Generations of Heroes
by HomerNet
Summary: In a world controlled by Dr. Wily, there is no hope left. One brother turned traitor and the other abandoning humanity to it's fate, one girl may hold the key to the salvation of the human race from the robot masters that enslave it.


Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction and is produced without permissions of the property holders of any trademarked or copyright reserved material.

Author's Note: As I couldn't possibly do justice to the magnificent work of The Protomen, Part 1: Hope Rides Alone, will likely never be written by me. This work is directly inspired by the album The Protomen and is intended to be an homage and sequel to that work. If they want to use this as a basis for future rock-operas like their original album, they're more than welcome to do so and I won't feel insulted or infringed upon in the slightest. :)

**Part 2: Journey through Darkness **

**_Chapter 1 _**

**Daughter of Fate **

A young woman with a duffle bag stood in front of the dusty saloon. "Saloon" seemed more appropriate than "bar" as a title for the edifice, as just looking at it brought to mind the old buildings that had once been the centers of towns in the American West. Of course, were she to tell anyone who shuffled in and out of the place her title for it, they'd wonder what moonshine she'd been drinking. Knowledge of history in The City was pretty much strictly forbidden. Sure, Wily paid lip-service to "respecting the traditions of our forefathers," and allowing certain histories to be taught in the laughably titled "schools" he allowed to exist, but she had a different teacher than the soul-less computers that taught the masses.

In her inspection of the facade, she noticed a security bot focussing on her. Scowling at it, she hefted the bag further up on her shoulder and entered the building. She had hoped that this far out of The City she wouldn't have to deal with the security net that served as Wily's eyes and ears. She wouldn't have long now that it had spotted her, and silently she cursed herself for not watching for and avoiding it.

Her eyes adjusted far quicker than most to the change from high-noon daylight outside to underlit and seedy inside. Scanning the interior, her eyes passed over the assortment of people one would expect in a run-down drinking establishment that was little-frequented by the authorities. A thug here, a man with a business suit surrounded by a small cadre of underlings there, and the various other type of regulars that did their best to not be noticed by what constituted "law," even in a totalitarian society such as Wily's.

In the back, blending in _too_ perfectly, was a man hunched over a beer with _several_ empties scattered about the table. Grimacing, she cut through the bar, all eyes on her no matter how will or poorly concealed. She did stand out rather spectacularly, but chose to ignore the watchers as she approached the only entity that wasn't paying her any attention. Of course, she knew he was not only aware of her existence, he probably had already figured out her true nature as well as forty different ways to kill her.

"Go away." he growled as she sat down, brushing a bottle off the seat in the process and ignoring the clatter as it hit the floor.

"No." she said simply, not quite growling back. _So this is how it's going to start, eh?_

Under the hoody of his sweatshirt she saw his nostrils flare and he looked her in the eye for the first time since she walked in. Anger fled as surprise flashed across his face, just as quickly replaced by suspicion. He examined her face closely. "Do I...know you?"

A bit surprised herself, she kept her calm and replied. "No, you don't. We've never met. I was born after...you weren't around when I came along."

The scowl returned to his face as he realized what she was implying. "Did _he_ send you?" he spat.

"No, he doesn't even know I'm here. He even tried to stop me from finding you, if it makes you feel any better."

Saying nothing, he simply snorted and took another pull off the beer bottle.

They sat in silence for a minute or two, until she sighed and said, "Aren't you going to ask why I'm here?"

"No." he replied as he opened another bottle.

Looking a bit cross, she began a reply, "I came to ask..."

"I didn't mean 'No, I wasn't going to ask,' I meant 'No, I won't do it.'" He saluted her somewhat startled and irriated silence and started drinking again.

Gathering her wits about her again, she asked, "Why?"

He looked her in the eye again, "How much did he tell you?"

She didn't need to ask who he was talking about. "Everything. Several times."

His gaze went from accusatory to haunted as the memory returned. "Then you know why." Eyes drifting closed, he muttered, "He tried to warn me..."

She couldn't deny the pain in his voice. Her mind searched for a way to penetrate the pain and achieve what she had come to do. "They still need you."

His focus returned to her with an intensity that startled her. His mouth opened to speak, he paused, then resumed, "Maybe." She blinked, startled by the admission. "Maybe the do _need_ me, but they don't _want_ me." He stood up, the chair he was on slid out from under him, "Look at them!" He waved his arms, presenting to her the people in the building. Those who had stopped hiding that they were listening in leaned back in surprise. "They _want_ someone to take care of them, to tell them what to do and where to go." He began to stomp around the tables, his voice raising, "They want a lord, a master.

Someone to tell them what to eat, someone to tell them how to live! What time to get up in the morning, what to eat, what to think, when to breath..." he slammed his hand down on a table with a small suited man who clearly was not expecting such an action, leaning down to glare the bar patron in the eyes and spoke through gritted teeth, "...when to die!" He stood abruptly, stomped over to the bar and grabbed another pack of beer, stomped back over to his table, then slumped down, the momentary surge of anger dissipating as he wound down.

She lifted an eyebrow, strangely inspired by his tirade. "'They are the Dead?'" she intoned.

He blinked, not looking up, "What did you s-?"

He was interrupted by an object slamming down on the table in front of him, scattering bottles both full and empty. Blinking again, he examined it in an instant and realized exactly what it was. He looked up at her, she was now standing, the duffle bag she entered with now empty and hanging limp from her fingers. "My helmet?" In reply she merely smiled. He stretched two blue hands out and lifted it to his face, looking into the visor as though it were on another man.

"Why did you bring this to me?" he sounded almost hurt as the emotion he abandoned with the helmet began flooding back.

"To remind you that you once fought Wily's whole robot army and _won_."

They were both fully aware the entire bar had abandoned any pretense of not watching and realization of who had been sitting in their midst the entire time. The smart ones began quickly leaving.

Setting the helmet down (but not releasing it, she noted), his face was etched in pain. "At the price of..."

"..._OUR_ brother!"

That seemed to stop him. Somehow, he hadn't quite made the connection that the girl standing in front of him was his sister. "...they don't deserve us to fight for them."

Smiling, she said, "No, no they haven't earned it."

Pain was replaced with confusion. "Then why should we fight for them?"

"Because we have something Wily doesn't have."

He was just about to ask what she meant when the sound of stomping feet accompanied by the tremor of the ground. The patrons, and even the bar staff, suddenly needed no further excuse. Those who were near enough bolted out the front door, the rest fled to the back for whatever emergency exit was there. The two who remained watched the door as first one, then several, robots were framed in the doorway. They were far too large to fit through the door, so they merely stood outside and leveled their guns at the door. A small sphere flew in and hovered a dozen feet away from them both. The sphere split into two hemispheres and a lens poked out. It examined them both, then the sphere rotated, revealing a small speaker. A commanding voice barked out at them. "Terrorist female and unknown companion, you have stolen an artifact from the laboratories of Doctor Wily. Surrender will be met with lenience, resistance will be met with retribution. Comply." The sphere snapped shut and zipped out of the bar, the actions of the firearms attached to the robots outside could be heard in a chorus of impending death.

He looked at the helmet, then up at his sister. "You stole this?"

A slightly impish grin crossed her face as she nodded.

"From Dr. Wily?" A hint of admiration crept into his voice as he pulled down his hoody.

She shrugged. "I doubt he would have just given it to me."

He stood, nodding and dropping the helmet onto his head. Connections that hadn't been made in years slipped back into place as cables snaked up from under his sweatshirt and jacked in. The sleeve on his left arm shredded below the elbow as a plasma cannon formed from what had been a hand and armor. A dangerous glint lit in his eyes behind his visor as his system purged the effects of alcohol far faster than any human.

She smiled at him. "Good to have you back, Rock."

He shook his head, "I'm still not convinced, but you've given me reason to hear you out."

"Good enough," she replied, turning to face the door.

Stepping next to her, he said, "So, what did Father name you?"

Another impish smile curved her lips, "Roll." she said simply.

Rock snorted and as one they stepped forward, Rock slightly in the lead as the sunlight glinted off his helmet.

At least forty robots faced them, weapons trained on the pair as dozens of speakers crackled to life. "Surrender, comply." was the only statement.

Before Rock could process the battle and launch into action, Roll lifted her fingers to her lips and blew, a piercing whistle cut the air. A synthetic sound echoed in rapid fire reply, something Rock couldn't see was coming closer. Abruptly the sound of rending metal ended the barking and to the left of the formation parts suddenly began flying in arcs above the metal men. Another rending sound and more parts flew as the robots threat assessments finally kicked in and they turned as one to a new target. Naturally, this proved to be a mistake as Rock took the opportunity to open fire, charging as he did, ripping into the robots with a viciousness that he hadn't unleashed in years. He began using highly powered shots and his left fist to simply plow through the phalanx.

Peripherally he was aware of Roll leaping in a 14-foot arc up and into the robots. She landed hands first, her body twisting to convert her momentum into torque as the head of a robot ripped from it's joints. Dropping next to it, she used the disk-like head to shear off the gun arm of it's neighbor and began clubbing it's former owner into shrapnel. This took place in a little under three seconds and she quickly side-kicked another robot's knee joints, causing it to topple into it's neighbor.

About this time, bullets started flying. The robots, now facing three very different threats, simply started firing at their nearest target. This also meant that for the long experienced Rock and the clearly competent Roll it was easy to cause the robots to fire on each other. Rock used the classic move of standing between firing robots and leaping out of the way as he initiated an attack on a third, Roll slipped inside the attack of the nearest and a few well executed and seemingly effortless taps caused the firing arm of the robot arced wide into four other robots. Two were immediately incapacitated while the other two fired on the spot Roll occupied. Roll simply dropped out of the line of fire letting the bullets tear through the robot. She slid forward, but was beaten to the task of stopping the other two by two high-powered energy shots in short sequence collapsing their chests and shutting them down. Roll glared at her brother, but he had already moved on to taking out three others.

A robot leg, bereft of the rest of the robot, slammed down in front of her, causing her to focus again. She leapt up as gunfire ripped through the air, a snap kick toppling a robot. She grabbed the barrel of a gun and turned, revealing a strength that her petite form hid as the entire robot, easily three times her size, was lifted into the air; she swung it perfectly into an energy shot from her brother's arm canon, a gaping hole now appearing at the base of it's neck as it plowed into another robot, this one about to swing it's massive club arm at her brother. The force was so extreme that the two robots at first glance appeared to be one. The damage, of course, was so severe that neither robot functioned any longer.

As both Rock and Roll turned to face any further threats, they realized that there were no more. Only one robot remained moving, and that was clearly not of it's own power. It heaved vigorously back and forth, it's power core long since disconnected or destroyed, then all at once it's bulk collapsed to the ground. Onto it leapt a golden retriever.

Rock blinked, his helmet showing that this was clearly not a dog. It sat down on the robot and barked happily at Roll, it's tongue lolling out the side of it's mouth as it panted. "What...?"

"Good boy, Rush!" exclaimed Roll. She ran up to the animal, scratching his neck, "Oh, yes such-a-good-boy!" At that point, she devolved into the meaningless babble called "babytalk" by the many pet owners and parents that Rock had encountered over the years.

Sighing, Rock dismissed the blaster as his hand reformed. Glaring at the tattered sleeve of the sweatshirt, he muttered about having to replace it. Looking back at Roll, he realized she was already looking at him. "What?" he said, not quite snapping at her.

She was smiling at him enigmatically again. "Our brother was built to give hope to man, you were built to give hope to Father. I was built with the last hope Father had for anything." She tilted her head, as though examining him like a puzzle. "What will give you hope again?"

He didn't answer, turning away from her, one hand removing the helmet. He didn't drop it, though. It hung from his grip, but the grip was firm. She smiled even wider, though he didn't see it.

Several heartbeats later, he replied. "They have to want to be free." When he didn't hear a reply, Rock turned to his sister. She was still showing that irritating smile, like she knew something. "Well?" he said.

She merely nodded and turned, starting down an alley. As the shadows lapsed over her, she called back without looking, "Come with me, brother. I have something to show you."

Rush barked happily at Rock and trotted after the girl. Grimacing, Rock started after them. "Hey, you never answered my question!"

"What question?"

"What do we have that Wily doesn't?"

She paused her walking, Rush stopping next to her and leaning against her leg. "Faith," she started, "Mercy..." she turned to face him, the irritating grin replaced with a warm smile, "And forgiveness."

He found he couldn't respond as she trotted off into the alley, Rush right next to her. He started after her, confusion etching his face.


End file.
